A/N: Angst galore. No, I'm really NOT a complete angst whore, despite what it might seem. I promise... this SHALL have a reasonably happy ending, all things considered. But in this chapter, there is angstfluff. But there's more D/G, and that should please you. Yes? Yes.
Disclaimer: By the morning's light, I won't have gotten anywhere, in my scheme to steal the Potterverse. And perhaps I shouldn't rip off any more nice angstful songs, either.
~*~
Parvati Patil, from appearances, had handled everything WELL. At least, when she found out of her sister's death, she had been quiet.
When she saw Padma, the dead face a peaceful reflection of her own, she had not made any sound, even if she had stumbled slightly. Harry Potter, his face pale and wan, had reached out to try to catch his housemate, but Parvati had brushed his hands away.
The Indian girl walked about as if in a daze, though. There were still no classes, and when she had tottered into the empty Charms classroom when, had things been normal, she would have supposed to be in Potions, no one said anything. But then again, both Charms and Potions were now vacant positions. Padma had not been the only loss.
The Head Girl had taken Parvati's arm and guided her back to the Common Room, sitting her down in one of the more comfortable chairs, and silently handed her a cup of tea.
Parvati had noticed a leatherbound portfolio on a nearby table, and as if in a dream, reached out nerveless fingers to take it into her lap.
It had been Dean's sketches, and she opened the portfolio, her face unseeing and blank as she stared at depictions of the Common Room, herself, her housemates, Quidditch matches...
And then, she abruptly stopped at the last page, and the reaction was slow, like a gradually-building storm that finally came after being covered and hidden for eons. Gradually, she started to shake, from her hands, eventually her whole body, and the limp fingers suddenly clenched around the drawing, still unfinished, yanking it out of the portfolio. As the girl's hair quivered with deep, shaky breaths, she sprang up from her seat, her eyes filled with the deepest and most incredibly profound of heartbreak, and her elbow knocked over the glass of tea she'd set on the table, tear-hot water and dead leaves splashing all over the floor, wetting her shoes and soaking into the blood-red carpet.
And, picture still in hand, a manic gleam in her liquid eyes, she ran for the door.
An alarmed Harry Potter and a fearful Lavender Brown stood up from THEIR seats and ran out at Parvati's heels.
~*~
The door to the Divination tower never slammed before, open OR shut. But Parvati's savage shove almost blew the trapdoor from its rusty hinges, and there were splinters in her brown knuckles when she leapt into the classroom and grabbed a startled Professor Trelawney by one of her scarves, uncaring or unaware of the woman's wheezing.
"Miss Patil!" Trelawney finally recovered herself after a few moments, "What on earth is the matter, dear?"
"DON'T CALL ME 'DEAR'!" Parvati shrieked, giving her publically acknowledged favourite teacher a wild shake, "I TRUSTED YOU! I TRUSTED YOU!"
"Parvati..." Lavender started, but the Indian girl didn't hear her friend.
"I TRUSTED YOU!!" Parvati punctuated her broken, choked words with fierce shakes and bitter tears, "I... YOU... YOU PREDICTED EVERYONE'S DEATH!! EVERYONE!! WHY COULDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT MY SISTER WOULD BE DEAD?!" She waved the unfinished drawing of the dreamy-eyed Padma in Trelawney's pale, fearful face, the sheet crackling like bones about to snap, and gave a half-scream, half-sob. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!? I TRUSTED YOU! OH GODS, I TRUSTED YOU!!"
As Parvati broke down, crumpling into tears, her painful grip on the professor's shoulders loosened, and Harry and Lavender, each taking an arm, pulled her off Trelawney, who put a hand to her breast, speechless. Muttering a cool, generic apology, Harry led the girl out of the Divination tower even as Lavender picked up the picture, now slightly crumpled at the edges.
~*~
"What are they going to do about the teachers?"
She lay on his bed, her skin illuminated by the light from the fire, her big brown eyes fixed, troubled, upon his impassive face. He gave a morose sort of shrug.
"Bring in new people, as soon as they can," he muttered, "Not sure who, yet... but some are to arrive in a week or so."
She nodded slowly and gave a slight sigh. "Your father was there," she told him, "He... he was the one who killed Professor Snape. What are you doing without a Head of House?"
"Main issues go to Dumbledore, minor ones to the Prefects," came the laconic answer. He didn't want to think about Professor Snape OR his father... when it came to things... not with her here. And there wasn't just THAT. Battles meant that things were more serious. Battles meant... complications. "Don't worry about the other Slytherins, Gryfflet," he said, forcing a light tone, "I might get jealous."
She almost laughed, and reached out to swat his bare shoulder. "We're... endangering everyone with this, aren--"
He reached out, moving her over him and into his lap, none-too-gently cupping the back of her head and pulling her face down to his. When they broke apart, her lips were swollen, and he gazed up at her with half-lidded eyes. "I can't pretend that this isn't a risk... but I'm not giving you up."
So blunt... she flushed slightly, fingers grazing the slight scar on his shoulder where he'd been hit with a Collacero curse. "I shouldn't feel this... carefree... this... this 'devil-may-care'... when..."
"Stop it," he ordered, scowling darkly at her, "Stop it."
"Why should I?" she demanded, frowning as well, "Shouldn't I be SAD that so many people have DIED? SHouldn't I be scared that so many MORE could die? Like my brothers, or... like you?"
"See, this is where we're different," he told her bluntly, "You have the luxury of worrying about these things."
"What do you mean?!"
"We think about survival all the time around here," he gestured the dungeon walls around him, "It's so NORMAL that..."
"The Gryffindors are angry, you know," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder, "They... Parvati broke down today. She couldn't stop crying..."
"If they didn't have a price on my head I'd be shocked," he sighed, "Is that what you're so upset about? Them hating me? That's not new, Ginny."
"Ron might kill you if he knew..."
"This isn't new, either," he cut her off. "And in these times, almost anyone can kill anyone else. At least Weasel would be doing it not arbitrarily."
She gave him an exasperated look at the derogatory name, and he shook his head. "But... why the deuce are we talking about your brother when I have you naked in my bed draped over me like a quilt?" Before she could answer this riddle, he was kissing her again, not pulling away from her when they were out of breath this time, and when his lips moved to her throat and his fingers trailed delicately down her spine, she stopped thinking so much, except for the odd thought that, perhaps, she was the influence behind this seeming recklessness of his... this "I won't give up despite the risks".
She wasn't sure if she should exult, but then, his lips grazed that spot by her earlobe, and her thoughts scattered like dust in a winter wind. She shed no tears that night.
And perhaps it was good that... almost no one knew, even now.
Disclaimer: By the morning's light, I won't have gotten anywhere, in my scheme to steal the Potterverse. And perhaps I shouldn't rip off any more nice angstful songs, either.
~*~
Parvati Patil, from appearances, had handled everything WELL. At least, when she found out of her sister's death, she had been quiet.
When she saw Padma, the dead face a peaceful reflection of her own, she had not made any sound, even if she had stumbled slightly. Harry Potter, his face pale and wan, had reached out to try to catch his housemate, but Parvati had brushed his hands away.
The Indian girl walked about as if in a daze, though. There were still no classes, and when she had tottered into the empty Charms classroom when, had things been normal, she would have supposed to be in Potions, no one said anything. But then again, both Charms and Potions were now vacant positions. Padma had not been the only loss.
The Head Girl had taken Parvati's arm and guided her back to the Common Room, sitting her down in one of the more comfortable chairs, and silently handed her a cup of tea.
Parvati had noticed a leatherbound portfolio on a nearby table, and as if in a dream, reached out nerveless fingers to take it into her lap.
It had been Dean's sketches, and she opened the portfolio, her face unseeing and blank as she stared at depictions of the Common Room, herself, her housemates, Quidditch matches...
And then, she abruptly stopped at the last page, and the reaction was slow, like a gradually-building storm that finally came after being covered and hidden for eons. Gradually, she started to shake, from her hands, eventually her whole body, and the limp fingers suddenly clenched around the drawing, still unfinished, yanking it out of the portfolio. As the girl's hair quivered with deep, shaky breaths, she sprang up from her seat, her eyes filled with the deepest and most incredibly profound of heartbreak, and her elbow knocked over the glass of tea she'd set on the table, tear-hot water and dead leaves splashing all over the floor, wetting her shoes and soaking into the blood-red carpet.
And, picture still in hand, a manic gleam in her liquid eyes, she ran for the door.
An alarmed Harry Potter and a fearful Lavender Brown stood up from THEIR seats and ran out at Parvati's heels.
~*~
The door to the Divination tower never slammed before, open OR shut. But Parvati's savage shove almost blew the trapdoor from its rusty hinges, and there were splinters in her brown knuckles when she leapt into the classroom and grabbed a startled Professor Trelawney by one of her scarves, uncaring or unaware of the woman's wheezing.
"Miss Patil!" Trelawney finally recovered herself after a few moments, "What on earth is the matter, dear?"
"DON'T CALL ME 'DEAR'!" Parvati shrieked, giving her publically acknowledged favourite teacher a wild shake, "I TRUSTED YOU! I TRUSTED YOU!"
"Parvati..." Lavender started, but the Indian girl didn't hear her friend.
"I TRUSTED YOU!!" Parvati punctuated her broken, choked words with fierce shakes and bitter tears, "I... YOU... YOU PREDICTED EVERYONE'S DEATH!! EVERYONE!! WHY COULDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT MY SISTER WOULD BE DEAD?!" She waved the unfinished drawing of the dreamy-eyed Padma in Trelawney's pale, fearful face, the sheet crackling like bones about to snap, and gave a half-scream, half-sob. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!? I TRUSTED YOU! OH GODS, I TRUSTED YOU!!"
As Parvati broke down, crumpling into tears, her painful grip on the professor's shoulders loosened, and Harry and Lavender, each taking an arm, pulled her off Trelawney, who put a hand to her breast, speechless. Muttering a cool, generic apology, Harry led the girl out of the Divination tower even as Lavender picked up the picture, now slightly crumpled at the edges.
~*~
"What are they going to do about the teachers?"
She lay on his bed, her skin illuminated by the light from the fire, her big brown eyes fixed, troubled, upon his impassive face. He gave a morose sort of shrug.
"Bring in new people, as soon as they can," he muttered, "Not sure who, yet... but some are to arrive in a week or so."
She nodded slowly and gave a slight sigh. "Your father was there," she told him, "He... he was the one who killed Professor Snape. What are you doing without a Head of House?"
"Main issues go to Dumbledore, minor ones to the Prefects," came the laconic answer. He didn't want to think about Professor Snape OR his father... when it came to things... not with her here. And there wasn't just THAT. Battles meant that things were more serious. Battles meant... complications. "Don't worry about the other Slytherins, Gryfflet," he said, forcing a light tone, "I might get jealous."
She almost laughed, and reached out to swat his bare shoulder. "We're... endangering everyone with this, aren--"
He reached out, moving her over him and into his lap, none-too-gently cupping the back of her head and pulling her face down to his. When they broke apart, her lips were swollen, and he gazed up at her with half-lidded eyes. "I can't pretend that this isn't a risk... but I'm not giving you up."
So blunt... she flushed slightly, fingers grazing the slight scar on his shoulder where he'd been hit with a Collacero curse. "I shouldn't feel this... carefree... this... this 'devil-may-care'... when..."
"Stop it," he ordered, scowling darkly at her, "Stop it."
"Why should I?" she demanded, frowning as well, "Shouldn't I be SAD that so many people have DIED? SHouldn't I be scared that so many MORE could die? Like my brothers, or... like you?"
"See, this is where we're different," he told her bluntly, "You have the luxury of worrying about these things."
"What do you mean?!"
"We think about survival all the time around here," he gestured the dungeon walls around him, "It's so NORMAL that..."
"The Gryffindors are angry, you know," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder, "They... Parvati broke down today. She couldn't stop crying..."
"If they didn't have a price on my head I'd be shocked," he sighed, "Is that what you're so upset about? Them hating me? That's not new, Ginny."
"Ron might kill you if he knew..."
"This isn't new, either," he cut her off. "And in these times, almost anyone can kill anyone else. At least Weasel would be doing it not arbitrarily."
She gave him an exasperated look at the derogatory name, and he shook his head. "But... why the deuce are we talking about your brother when I have you naked in my bed draped over me like a quilt?" Before she could answer this riddle, he was kissing her again, not pulling away from her when they were out of breath this time, and when his lips moved to her throat and his fingers trailed delicately down her spine, she stopped thinking so much, except for the odd thought that, perhaps, she was the influence behind this seeming recklessness of his... this "I won't give up despite the risks".
She wasn't sure if she should exult, but then, his lips grazed that spot by her earlobe, and her thoughts scattered like dust in a winter wind. She shed no tears that night.
And perhaps it was good that... almost no one knew, even now.